


reunited (and it feels so good)

by gotfanfiction



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Because of Reasons, Blood Kink, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier is Here For That, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Romantic Eskel, Sex in the woods, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, The reason is I like it, Top Eskel (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26487667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotfanfiction/pseuds/gotfanfiction
Summary: The man had eyes like the fat mouser who liked Julian best, the one who curled up on his chest to purr him to sleep some nights, scratching her battered ears as thanks. Julian thought that maybe they were the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen, and he hadn’t even known people could have cat eyes, and he was a little jealous.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 34
Kudos: 322





	reunited (and it feels so good)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Symbolic_Deviant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Symbolic_Deviant/gifts).



> Jaskel is my new thing. Not even a little bit sorry

Julian was a very small boy. He knew this because everyone would tell him, even Mother, who didn’t seem like she was there most of the time, a pale hand reaching out to curl a lock of hair just like hers around her finger, an absent smile on her face. His sister, younger than him by a year, taller by a head, would poke him sharply in his side, ask him when he was going to ever just  _ start growing, already, _ and it would upset him so much he would go and hide.

Wasn’t  _ his _ fault everyone was bigger than he was. Sisters were stupid and annoying, anyways. 

He peeked around a corner, careful. His father was the tallest person Julian knew, and he did not like his little son, not even a little bit, and wasn’t very nice about it. Sometimes he only had to spot Julian to get angry enough to grab his cane and son both, and Julian knew, somehow, even if he was told otherwise, that that wasn’t his fault, either. 

There was not a soul to be found down the long hallway, and Julian had brought his little lute, special, just for this. It sounded best in this part of the house, echoes bouncing off the stone walls, and it was lovely, even if Julian still needed lots and lots of practice if he wanted to be as good as his tutor was. 

Which was why he was here, plucking away, humming a little song about the birds who were nesting just outside his window, trying to mimic their little chirps. He started dancing as well, the way he’d seen bards do, twisting around and taking big sideways steps, humming and playing so loudly he didn't notice the stranger until he took one twist too many and got the shock of his young life. 

There was a stranger, right there, at the end of the hall! Oh, he must have been there for only a moment, because Julian had been checking, he had! Except he had closed his eyes, hadn't he? For at least a minute, oh no. 

Julian looked up, and then up some more. This was the biggest person he had ever seen in his whole life! Bigger than Father, even! His eyes went wide, and he clutched his lute to his chest. The man was wearing strange armor, little bits all cobbled together, and his swords -he had  _ two _ of them!- were probably longer than Julian was, himself. 

"I won't hurt you," the stranger said, voice deep as the well Julian dropped pebbles and the occasional coin into, and he hadn't been worried about that at all, really. He did desperately want to know where he had come from, and why he was here.

The man had eyes like the fat mouser who liked Julian best, the one who curled up on his chest to purr him to sleep some nights, scratching her battered ears as thanks. Julian thought that maybe they were the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen, and he hadn’t even known people  _ could _ have cat eyes, and he was a little jealous.

“You don’t look like you would,” Julian said, making his eyes go big, the way Mother liked, when she was with them. “You have cat eyes, did you know?”

“I did know, yes,” the stranger crouched down, and Julian thrilled at the chance to get a better look at him. “Do you know why?”

Julian shook his head. “Are you magic?”

That got him a chuckle. “Only a bit. I’m a Witcher, little bard. My eyes look like this so that I can hunt monsters better than an ordinary man.”

Julian gasped. An actual monster slayer? In his house! Who was big and tall and called him a bard, but without pulling his face down like it tasted bad. “Is there a monster here?” 

“Not right here, don’t fret. But that is why  _ I  _ was asked to come here. Your father is responsible for the people he governs, and that means when a beastie is about he has to call a Witcher.” 

Julian hadn’t known anything about any kind of monsters, and thinking about one just roaming around his home sent a shiver down his spine. “Are you going to kill it?”

“Yes, most likely. I’ve got an idea of what it might be, and I’ll have to leave at first light to, uh, dispatch it.” The Witcher didn’t look very happy about it, and Julian supposed that was probably a good thing. Sometimes, when there were knights or lords around, bragging about how many people or things they had killed, they would drink a whole awful lot of ale, and they would slap at Julian for getting too close, or asking too many questions. 

They seemed to enjoy all the killing they did, and hurting people, and Julian was sure that meant they weren’t very good people, the same way his father wasn’t a very good person. Julian was very good at ducking, however, and he was so small that slipping away and hiding was easy as pie.

He wanted to ask more questions, wanted to know everything about this Witcher who had come to kill a monster, but didn’t look like he really wanted to, but his father had come round the corner just as he opened his mouth, and all his words shriveled away, clogging his throat like dust.

“Julian! Get away from him!” His father looked small next to the Witcher, who had straightened out of his crouch, he looked thin and  _ tiny, _ and even though Julian scrambled to obey, he couldn't help but think,  _ he looks afraid. Father is afraid. _

He was immediately sent to his room, to study, not that he did, crammed up under his desk, strumming at his lute. Father had never been afraid of anything, never looked scared, not even when Mother withered away in her bed, his dead sibling leeching the life from her, just angry, and cold.

Hours passed, his supper a paltry one, tonight, the price of his being so far into an area he wasn't properly allowed in, and it was dark when Julian, burning with curiosity, snuck out of his room, feet bare on cold stone, to the rooms where guests stayed. No one was there, all the rooms dark and empty. 

Where else could they have stashed him away? Julian frowned, and walked down to the servant’s quarters. It seemed not right that someone who was being sent to do something so important and dangerous would be housed with the servants, who were nice but never did anything exciting at all.

But there was light shining from under the door at the room no one was using, and Julian knew this door didn't properly lock as he used it to hide after he stole treats from the kitchen. He opened it, poking his head in, meeting the surprised gaze of a Witcher. 

He had taken off his funny armor, and was wearing a regular old shirt, but he was still just as big as he had been before he had. Julian did the eye trick again, asked, "May I please come in, sir?" 

Julian didn't wait for permission, just sidled in and shut the door behind him, keeping his eyes wide. The Witcher raised his eyebrows at him, but didn’t tell him to get lost, and that was all the okay Julian needed to scramble over, sitting himself on the floor near to the Witcher. He was vibrating, practically, all the questions he wanted to ask each screaming over each other to be first. 

“Why are you so tall?” Not really the best of the lot, but he wanted to know regardless. “Are you like a knight, sworn to protect the land? What kind of monsters do you slay the most? Are they scary? Do you ever get scared?”

Oh, too many, all at once, and usually that  _ was  _ when even the most tolerant of adults gave him a shove and a scolding. But the Witcher cocked his head, humming as he thought.

“Suppose I’m just tall, lad, and Witchers are not knights. And I’ll let you in on a secret, if you promise to keep it forever.”

A secret! Julian shifted to his knees, hands clutched to his chest. “I will! I promise, I  _ swear! _ I’ll keep your secret!”

The Witcher leaned forward, “Most people think Witchers can’t feel anything, let alone fear, but that’s not really true. I do feel scared, sometimes, I feel fear.”

Julian didn’t understand why that was such an important secret, but he had it, nonetheless, and he would keep it safe with him. The Witcher let him stay for a while longer, weathering his endless queries with far more grace than anyone else ever had, though he begged off to rest with an amused grin after a little more than an hour. 

“Julian, little Bard of Lettenhove, go to your bed.” The Witcher, who’s name was Eskel, ruffled his hair. “We’ll meet again in the morning.”

“You should stay here forever!” Julian wriggled around, tired but fighting it. “You could keep us safe and I can sneak you into a better room. I’m good at sneaking!”

“I’m sure you are, but Witchers don’t stay in one place for long. Our work keeps us traveling.”

“What if I married you? You’d have to stay with me if you were married to me!”

Eskel laughed, and loudly. Julian pouted at him. He’d marry him, and he would stay and tell Julian stories and help him steal from the kitchen. It would be perfect.

“Go to  _ bed, _ kid. Let me sleep so I’m not stuck fighting off a nap and a beast at the same time.”

Julian did as he was bade, excited for the chance to see him again, wanting more stories and maybe even more secrets! But Eskel was gone, and asking about where the Witcher had gone had gotten him a very firm slap. He could only guess at what happened. He rarely thought of something pleasant.

*--*

Julian decided, one day, that he didn’t like being Julian very much, and so he chose to become Jaskier, chose to leave his home, chose to travel. He wasn’t little anymore, but he was definitely still a bard, well educated and talented to boot. 

Running into Geralt felt serendipitous, but the Witcher was stingy on the details on  _ all _ fronts, and point blank refused to speak to Jaskier about his Witcher brethren. It was frustrating, looking into eyes just like Eskel's and seeing not much besides derision. 

He persisted, however, stinking to Geralt like a colorful burr, and over time the Witcher became the tiniest bit more friendly, at least overtly, and Jaskier began keeping track of rare smiles and composing embarrassing ballads about white haired beauties with eyes like gold coins. 

Jaskier found himself waking up one day, half in love with what was probably his best friend, and panicked so severely about it he got  _ Geralt _ to show visible worry over him. The awkward pats to his back did nothing to comfort him, Jaskier sure that he was doomed to trip the rest of the way into a pathetic one-sided love. 

Geralt had Yennefer, after all, and had never so much as breathed interest Jaskier's way, not even the slightest hint of attraction. So he left, Geralt staring at him with something close to concern in his eyes, with a promise to return that he wasn't certain he would keep. 

Jaskier stayed a month in a court that was delighted to see him, it's lord and lady happy to have him in their bed, and some of the affection faded from his heart, but not all of it, so he set off again, summer laying hot on his shoulders like a smothering blanket. 

The horse he'd been given was steady and calm, a lovely pale gold color, and traveling went so much faster when he wasn't walking, though he could have done without the ache in his thighs, not having ridden often since he was much younger. 

He found himself in a dusty backwater, the people care worn but largely cheerful, glad enough for entertainment from a bard as well known as he, and he left his steed in the capable hands of a stable boy, wanting a nap and a drink before he plied his trade. 

Jaskier was unprepared to meet slitted yellow eyes, set in a face that took him less than a moment to recognize. Eskel had looked up when he walked in, but clearly dismissed him as a non threat, looking back down to his notes immediately. He'd acquired incredibly impressive scars that ran down the length of his face, missing a small piece of his upper lip, a hint of sharp tooth glinting. 

When they had met before, Eskel had been a mountain of man, larger than life, mysterious,  _ magical, _ and Jaskier remembered, suddenly, a promise to marry one of the only people who had been kind to him simply because they were kind, and not because they wanted something from him. He looked at the Witcher with an adult's eyes, and those shoulders weren't just impressive, they were  _ magnificent, _ and he wanted to feel them under his hands. 

He wanted to go over there and rub himself on him like a cat in heat, arousal pooling low in his gut, and Jaskier was very bad at denying himself the things he wanted, so he walked right up to the table where Eskel was sitting.

_ Time to harass this Witcher, _ he thought gleefully. It had worked with Geralt ‘I Have No Emotions’ of Rivia, after all. And he got the feeling Eskel may be more receptive to his presence. 

“Well, hello,” Jaskier leaned on the table, his shirt gaping a bit at the collar, just how he wanted. “I couldn’t help but notice you over here all alone, and I thought, ‘Jaskier, that man looks like he could use some  _ quality _ company’, and who better to provide than myself?”

“I don’t have the coin for you, I’m sorry.” Eskel looked a bit regretful of that, but firm in his rejection. “Thank you.”

He went back to his work, Jaskier staring at him with his mouth hanging open, shocked. It wasn’t, well, it was hardly the  _ first _ time he’d been mistaken for a whore, but it  _ was _ the first time it happened after  _ he _ had approached someone else. He started laughing, doing his best to stifle it. 

“Oh, my Witcher dear, I’m Jaskier the Bard, known across the continent for my musical talents and, ah, certain other things.” He winked at Eskel, who had the grace to look embarrassed at his assumption. “Don’t worry that you’ve offended me, handsome, if anything, I consider it a compliment!”

Jaskier slid his hand over the other man’s, slowly, leaned even further towards him, Eskel’s gaze dropping to his mouth before flicking back to his eyes, mouth open just the tiniest bit, and Jaskier wanted to  _ ruin  _ this man, yes he did. 

"Can whatever it is you're working on be tabled for a later date?" Jaskier smiled, let his eyelids go heavy. "I have an offer for you, sir, and it's one I hope you won't refuse." 

"I'd be a fool if I did." Eskel quickly gathered his things, eyes bright. "I have a room. Unless you'd prefer your own?" 

"Haven't rented one yet," Jaskier said, cheerfully snaking his arm around Eskel's waist. "Don't suppose I could borrow yours?" 

"Sounds like a good idea." They were practically running up the stairs, Jaskier letting himself be tugged down a hallway, into a room, pressed up against a wall and kissed. 

Not that he wasn't giving as good as he was getting, undressing Eskel, armor hitting the floor with dull thunks, pulling his shirt out of trousers while sucking and biting at the Witcher's tongue. Jaskier was good at multitasking. 

Hands were pulling at his clothes, popping a seam or two until he pulled away, regretfully, to undress himself, making a show of it, gently prodding Eskel's chest until he hit the bed with the backs of his legs, and sat down, eyes dark, heel of his hand pressing into the line of his cock through his half laced breeches. 

He had to hop around to get his boots off, looking up with a laugh to find that Eskel had finished undressing himself, and he was big all over, somehow not seeming any smaller despite his armor being scattered about the floor. 

Jaskier hurried over to sit in that lap, grinding down as soon as he was steady; Eskel's hands were so big they took up his entire lower back, fingers digging in. "Oil, we need slick, oh, I want your cock in me, as soon as you can manage."

Eskel's face...fell, not the usual reaction to dirty talk, and Jaskier blinked down at him, mouth stinging. "You don't have any, do you?"

"I have some, but not enough to get me in you without it hurting." Eskel picked him up and set him on the bed, he just fucking picked Jaskier up, easy, and Jaskier was no waif; thinking about that strength made him shiver. 

"I have an idea, dear. Bring what you've got, and we'll go from there." Jaskier grabbed Eskel as soon as he got in range, put his teeth in his belly, the Witcher hissing in a breath, a small bottle in his hands. 

Damn, he was right. Unless Jaskier wanted to walk funny for a month, and he was tempted, a bit, to throw caution to the wind, but it wasn't as if there weren't other things they could do. He had Eskel spoon up behind him, dribbled some of the oil on his thighs, excited to do something he hadn't in  _ years, _ guided the larger man's cock in between his thighs and squeezed as tight as he could. 

The head of Eskel's cock dragged against his balls, and he poured more oil, the jar nearly empty now. He turned his head as much as he could, wanting more kisses, and he got them, Eskel moaning into his mouth as he thrust between Jaskier's thighs. He reached back, got an encouraging hand on that beautifully plump rear. 

"Faster," Jaskier bit at Eskel's cheek, grinning when he wrapped a hand around his prick. 

"Gods, you're a pushy one," Eskel stole the jar from him, laying kisses along his shoulders, teeth sharp on his skin. "Gonna try something. Need a minute."

Eskel prodded Jaskier onto his knees, bracketed his legs closed with his own, Witcher strength keeping them tightly together, went right back to screwing Jaskier's thighs. He felt a light touch right on his hole, slick, tentative, and he gasped out a yes, and a finger worked its way inside, stars above, Eskel really was big everywhere.

There was two in there before he even knew it, searching, and they found it almost straight away, pressing down insistently on that wonderful spot that set off sparks behind Jaskier's eyes. He was begging, now,  _ fasterhardermore,  _ Eskel bending over to bite his neck, hard enough to break the skin, hand working as furiously as his hips, and Jaskier only needed two strokes before he was done, coming in milky stripes on the bedding.

Eskel kept going, growling just loud enough for him to hear, Jaskier mewling and oversensitive, asking still for  _ more. _ He wished he was young enough to get hard again right after coming, but he wasn't, and it might have killed him, anyway. Eskel finally took his teeth and hand away, pulled back just enough so he could slide his cock into the crack of Jaskier's ass.

Jaskier's toes curled up every time the head of Eskel's prick caught against his rim, and that was the last of the oil poured out, right on his asshole, and  _ oh fuck!  _ It burned, him not stretched anywhere near enough, but Eskel pushed until the tip of his cock popped in, Jaskier screeching, and his own cock had started plumping up again, good  _ gods. _

He could feel Eskel frantically stripping his cock, knuckles brushing his skin, him begging again, and it didn't take long until Eskel was coming, hot in him, and Jaskier might still die, actually, shivering, moaning, under a Witcher, not that he fucking cared right now. 

Wow, that was a lot of come, Eskel hunched over him, breathing damply into his hair. One of his hands had snuck around, pressing into his belly, and Jaskier put his on top of it, chest heaving, sweating like a pig, already ready for a post coital nap, half hard dick easy to ignore at the moment.

When Eskel finally finished, he dropped onto the bed on his side, keeping Jaskier snug against him, cock still only just barely in him, and Jaskier just let himself enjoy it, kicking at the blanket until it flopped over their legs. 

*--*

Holy mother of  _ fuck, _ his thighs  _ hurt, _ Jaskier thought as he unstuck himself from Eskel, who snorted but slept on, and he walked on shaky legs to the basin of lukewarm water, cleaned up as best as he could, and considered his options. 

Going back to Geralt was discarded immediately. He could find another sponsor, but he had only just left his previous one; the thought of spending more time cooped up somewhere so soon was repellent. Jaskier pulled his trousers on, moved back to the bed. 

_ Eskel, _ he thought, _ may be entirely different from how I remember.  _ There was the slim chance he was a bastard to everyone except for children, though his behavior throughout their encounter argued against that. There was no  _ guarantee, _ was the thing, that this wouldn’t end up just like the situation with his best friend.

Jaskier gently tucked a wayward strand of hair behind an ear, and his wrist was caught, Eskel turning his head to kiss his open palm, smile soft on his mouth, and his heart made his choice for him, staggering the first few steps into affection.

*--*

Now, Jaskier had always made a point of spoiling his long-term lovers, but he  _ absolutely _ went overboard with Eskel. If he had his way the Witcher would never have to buy anything for himself ever again. 

Jaskier stuck to Eskel even harder than he had to Geralt; falling a little more in love with every moment, and he dragged the man to festivals and feasts, dragged him around the dance floor, too. 

He’s sure that Eskel doesn’t remember him as Julian, little overly curious noble boy, but he makes sure he knows him  _ very _ well as Jaskier, Bard of Great Renown. He seduces him as often as possible, keeps him well fed and well fucked, keeps him in herbs and buys him every little thing he catches the man’s eyes lingering on, a new shirt, a new dagger, a truly ridiculous amount of sweet cakes.

*--*

They get married once in the dark, Eskel pinning Jaskier down on the forest floor after a hunt, blood frothing up high with toxins and lust, black bleeding from his eyes, vowing to keep him and keep him well. Jaskier begs him for more, for harder, and Eskel is helpless to deny him, hopelessly in love, fingers digging in deep. 

He doesn’t understand, even in the moment, even while he’s fucking his love so furiously the man is screeching and flailing, swearing to be loyal to him, fangs wet with blood, his own smeared over Jaskier’s mouth. His heart is fit to burst, and he doesn’t understand why anyone would pick him, but he’s so greedy for this man, for his time and his love.

He loves him. He loves him.

*--*

Jaskier has been scribbling into a notebook and cackling, and Eskel is not exactly worried, but he keeps an eye on him anyways. He’s busy himself, making sure his armor and his swords are in fighting shape, and thinking a thought he’s been batting around for a while now.

He can count on one hand the amount of times ordinary humans haven’t been afraid of him, on sight, or after they discover he’s a Witcher. One is Jaskier, obviously, another is a young girl he pulled out from under a collapsed house, too grateful for fear, and the last was a little boy with endless questions who vowed to hold a secret for him. 

Jaskier didn’t have many secrets, as far as he could tell, open and honest and himself at all times, and what few he did have he had already shared. It had been a bit of a shock to find out that Jaskier was _ Geralt’s bard, _ who had done so much work for their kind, although it explained the total lack of fear. He’d spent more than ten years following a Witcher around. 

Eskel doesn’t particularly  _ want _ to get dressed up and stand in front of a bunch of people who don’t care for him much -or his groom, judging by the ever increasing mad bouts of laughter-, but he liked doing things that pleased Jaskier, and in the end, it was just an excuse to get drunk and dance in front of people who would be forced to be polite to them about it. 

His brothers were coming, even if it was to laugh at him in whatever outfit Jaskier had designed, in cahoots with one of his many tailors. It was a surprise, apparently.  _ That _ had him concerned, more than anything else. 

*--*

Eskel hadn't needed to be worried, after all. Jaskier had dressed both of them in shirts and trousers, no boots or shoes, and while the fabrics were the finest he'd ever donned, and the shirt showed more of his chest than he normally ever would, his concerns about elaborate embroidery or a jewel studded doublet were laid to rest. 

The ceremony was a simple handfasting, ribbon bound and cut in a few moments, vows whispered into willing mouths. Geralt was looking emotional, which on any other person would look like the deepest misery, Lambert smirking at his side, but softer than normal. They were happy for him, then. 

Jaskier marched him about the area, chest puffed out, swaggering, as if getting married to a beat up old Witcher was anything to swagger about, introducing him to rivals and friends and all manner of people. 

They came to a stop in front of a scowling whip of a man, dressed like a lord, mean lines set so deep in his face Eskel doubted the man could smile at all. Jaskier was  _ grinning _ at this awful, familiar, person, his teeth bared in triumph and spite. 

"Julian." Eskel blinked, hard, snapping his head around to gape at his husband twice over, realization washing over him. "It isn't enough, you traipsing about the continent, pretending at being a bard, but now you've gone and married a monster?" 

"Didn't marry a monster," and Jaskier put some more teeth into his grin. "I married a good man. I hope you rot, bastard. Tell Marcelina I said hello, and that I’m sorry she couldn’t come to my wedding.”

He swanned off before his father could reply, the man’s face red with rage, pulling Eskel along with him. Eskel, still wrestling with the fact that Jaskier, the love of his life, was  _ Julian,  _ the little Bard of Lettenhove. A curious, unafraid child, bright eyed and hungry for stories and kindness, who promised to marry him.

Jaskier grabbed a bottle of wine. “What are the odds of him dropping dead from a heart attack before the party is over?” 

Eskel cocked his head. “Fair, I’d say. Jaskier?”

His husband hummed at him as he drank, and he sounded amused, so he’d figured out that  _ he’d _ figured it out. 

“Did you-” Eskel was having some trouble here, now. “Did you remember me, when we met again? Is that why you-”

Jaskier put a hand over his mouth, placed his wine on a nearby table. “I can see you getting worked up for nothing, so I’ll stop you before you get started, sweetheart. Yes, I remembered you, and that  _ did  _ have a hand in why I went over to talk to you, but, love, honestly?" 

He took his hand away, buried them both in Eskel's hair, pressed the length of his body against his, and Eskel let his hands grip those slim hips. “You were exactly what I wanted, promises aside. I wanted  _ you, _ and I made sure that I  _ got _ you. My love is real, real as anything. I only regret that I didn’t find you sooner.”

Eskel was kissing him as soon as he was done speaking, a hand slipping up to keep Jaskier in place, the other going down to grab a perfect handful of his husband’s ass. The kiss was too dirty considering where they were, and how many people were watching them, and he could hear Lambert laughing somewhere off to the left. 

He didn't give a fuck, not when he had Jaskier in his arms. Eskel tossed him over his shoulder to haul him off to their rented cottage, and the tittering from their guests turned into hooting and gales of laughter, everyone knowing that they were leaving their own party early to fuck themselves stupid in their marriage bed. 

Jaskier was laughing at him, grabbing at his ass, wine bottle snatched from the table he'd put it on, spilling it everywhere when he tried to take another swig. Eskel shifted him so that he was being carried away like a proper bride, held tight in his arms, wine splattered down the front of his shirt, down the back of Eskel's trousers, and Jaskier kissed him with stained lips, laughter and love and lust offered from his mouth, and Eskel was helpless, again, to do anything but take what was offered to him.


End file.
